


What She Needs

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea is tired of living rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What She Needs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse, for the prompt 'sensual'
> 
> * * *

“Here it is,” Jacob says, halting in front of the store. Near as she can tell, The Governor has assigned the man to her as a bodyguard-cum-tour guide; in her wanderings of the town with Michonne, the man has never been more than a few steps behind them. Andrea shades her eyes to glance up at the sign, then glances over her shoulder to her friend. The hand she lifts to beckon her forward stalls in the air when she sees Michonne turn away, stalk off down the street with a perma-scowl etched on her face.

Andrea sighs, turns back to Jacob. “Are you sure?”

“Just take what you need,” he answers. “You need me for anything, I’ll be over by the wall.”

The bell above the door still jingles when she pushes it open, bringing back memories from another time: antiquing with her mother; weekends spent wandering through the little shops in Lancaster County when she could manage to get away from her practice; visiting the little mom-and-pop stores in the rural towns of Georgia with Amy in the weeks before everything went sour. She swallows, pushes the memories down and away as she shuts the door firmly behind her.

The store is stifling, holding the hot air of the day inside it liked a closed fist. Andrea pulls at the collar of her top, lank and grimy after so many months on the road. She strolls down the aisle, running the tips of her fingers over the rows of hangers, making the shirts they hold sway a little in the still, dank air of the store.

She hesitates in front of a loose and flowing peasant top, removes it from the hanger and holds it up to the light filtering through the big picture window. It’s as pure and brilliant white as the day it left the manufacturers warehouse, with small embroidered flowers stitched here and there. It’s also, she knows, completely impractical for slogging through the countryside, living rough and dodging walkers with every step. But it calls to her, and she’s not dodging walkers right now. Not scrambling to find shelter for the night. She has an actual bed, in a room that’s clean and dry, in a town that’s protected and safe.

She nods, folds the top up carefully; reaches into her bag to shift aside her journal to make room for it. Another gorgeous white top follows soon after, then a third. She feels too guilty to take any more – who knows how little the other people in Woodbury have to their names – and she turns to leave when the display of undergarments on the far wall catches her eye.

Most of the items are practical, much as she’d expect from a boutique store in a small, conservative town. But her hand reaches out to touch a simple white thong, fingers caressing the delicate lace trim. She unclips it from the hanger; glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is looking in through the window. No one is. No one cares what she chooses to take for herself, in this little oasis at the end of the world.

Andrea smiles to herself as she tucks the thong safely into the bottom of her bag, below the pretty new tops and the battered journal.

She is tired of being a warrior. She just wants to feel like a woman for once.


End file.
